God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman
by Tidia
Summary: Christmas time in the Brotherhood AU. Dean, Sam, Caleb and Mackland gather at Pastor Jim's with some other guests soon to arrive when Mackland is placed in a situation what if . . .
1. Chapter 1

Title: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman (Brotherhood AU)

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural—just borrowing. And Ridley C. James created The Brotherhood AU

Beta: Household Six (check out her stuff at fanfictionnet, you won't be disappointed.

Notes: Timeline wise this comes after To The Victor Go The Spoils (taking place May 2007), and two other stories we have planned—Offerings and Takings set in late summer and The Edge of Winter set in the fall. So there are some mentions of these, and they will be written in time. Thank you to Jo, my beta and Ridley for saying-they will love it. Lots of references from past stories too. This was inspired by gatorpez, and there is a part that Jo asked for too.

Part 1

Upon arriving at the farm, the boys had gone to the church to purchase a tree. They still liked to support Pastor Jim's church, and when they were children picking out the tree had been a big event. Just because they were grown didn't mean it couldn't be a big event again. With the conclusion of a tumultuous year which had them all being threatened, and the uncertainties of the upcoming year, a respite was in order.

Mackland had found Jim's eggnog recipe and liberally added the brandy, which was needed after he told the boys Joshua and Esme would be joining them. Esme was planning on cooking them a Christmas feast. Bobby was also coming for a visit, but it was the news of the Sawyer family's arrival that had Caleb concerned, with Dean not helping the situation. He was giving Dean leeway, having almost lost him recently, but he was fine and whole; Mackland, however, was losing patience.

"Must be serious, Damien, spending the holidays together," Dean quipped as he put his feet up on the coffee table. The new addition, Boo, had taken it as an opportunity to lie under Dean's propped up legs.

Caleb was reaching up to put the angel in place. They had found the box of Jim's ornaments in the attic, many of them homemade construction paper designs from the boys. It had been Caleb's idea to recreate their picturesque Christmases of the past, and Mackland had been more than willing to facilitate it. He knew his son was still trying to find a way out for Dean, as were he and Sam. More than anything, there seemed to be a consensus they needed to be together, omitting the possibility it could be their last Christmas together.

"Dad, tell Deuce you're just buddies with benefits."

Mackland frowned. He had no idea what his son was referring to. He had never heard the expression. "Caleb, what are you talking about?"

"Yeah, dude, explain 'buddies with benefits' to your dad," Dean snickered, bending down to pat the dog. Boo responded by wagging his tail.

Mackland stared at Caleb, who was not forthcoming with an answer. He turned to Sam. "Samuel?"

Sam looked startled. The dog barked and moved over to the youngest hunter. "Mac, I don't think—"

"Never mind," Caleb interjected.

Sam sighed in relief, gave all his attention to the dog, and moved to the opposite corner of the couch. Having heard Boo's barking, Harper Lee left his warm post in the kitchen and entered the living room to join them.

Caleb continued, pacing. "She comes with a kid."

Mackland worried about his son's jealous streak. It was endearing, but so illogical. "Joshua is an adult."

"What if Dean hits him again?" Caleb retorted.

Dean snorted. "Dude, I was 16. Don't go pulling me into your issues."

Mackland shook his head. "After all that has happened, don't you believe sharing the holidays is the least we can do?" Both Esme and Joshua had made sacrifices for Caleb, as well as those who cared for him.

"Did you buy him a present?" Dean asked with a smile. Mackland glared at him, succeeding in causing Dean to only momentarily twitch his mouth downward before he broke into a grin once more. "He did! It's probably that big ass one—"

The doctor wanted to put a hand over Dean's mouth. Caleb was circling the presents. The large one was actually for Esme, but he had purchased a small gift for Joshua.

Of all people, he was saved by Pastor Jim. He had found a few photo albums in the closet and had taken one down, placing it on the coffee table. He pointed to the maroon, leather bound book. "Boys! Look what I found."

Mackland sat in the middle of the Winchesters and opened the book. Dean and Sam moved in closer; Caleb ceased his diatribe and sat on the coffee table.

The first photo was of Emma, a soft color photo of a woman smiling, her hair coiled at the nape of the neck. She exuded a quiet elegance.

"Pastor Jim had himself a hottie," Dean commented.

Mackland chuckled. "That he did. Wish we had met her." Jim rarely spoke about his life with Emma, but when he did it was with an awe of a man still in love.

Caleb turned the page. "Wow, Jim had dark hair."

"What: do you think he was born gray?" Sam reached over and tapped the front of Caleb's head.

"More likely you three had something to do with it," Mackland said as he turned the page.

They all cocked their heads. Sam narrowed his eyes. "Is that Bobby in a suit?"

Caleb shook his head as if he had eaten something sour. "He's better scruffy-looking." He then turned the page to find there was a picture of Atticus and Scout.

Mackland noticed that Sam stopped patting Boo. Mackland had heard stories about the new dog visiting the neighbors and digging up their gardens. Dean would get messages left on his voicemail since somehow his phone number had appeared on the dog's tag.

"Atticus and Scout. Great dogs." Sam then returned to giving attention to Boo, who licked his hand until Harper Lee pushed in, making sure he was the primary focus of Sam's attention. Evidently, Harper Lee viewed Boo as an interloper.

The next picture had Caleb and Dean chortling. Sam was wearing sunglasses, holding what seemed to be a carrot, wearing a red jacket with zippers and one glove.

"Sam, why are you wearing a white glove?" Mackland asked.

"I was like four, Mac. I don't remember."

"Hey, that's all Caleb's stuff. He worshipped Michael Jackson," Dean commented then added a high pitched "OWW!"

Caleb slapped Dean in his stomach. "Michael Jackson was a genius."

Dean rubbed his stomach. "Back in 1983; by 1988, not so much."

"Man, you could do a mean moonwalk," Caleb gestured to Sam. "Do you still remember how?"

"You're pathetic, you know that? Tell me you paid me to do that." Sam kept his eyes on the picture.

"No, that was before your 'everything costs a dollar' phase."

Mackland recalled Sam at five years old bringing him a drink and then charging him for providing the service. It got to the point where he carried twenty singles with him just in case.

Dean turned the thick plastic page and let his hand linger on the page.

It was John and Mackland laughing in a moment of natural camaraderie. Mac missed those too-few carefree moments. He missed his friends, achingly saw that same longing reflected in the faces of his son and John's sons.

"When was this?" Sam sounded breathless.

"Probably when the three of you were out of the house."

They remained staring at the photo until Mackland quietly went to the next one, a picture of Caleb's high school graduation. Caleb's arm stretched over Jim's shoulder, his cap askew and his gown opened. He looked disheveled.

"You let him wear combat boots to his graduation?" Dean got a closer look at the picture.

"I wasn't consulted," Mackland retorted. "When you are a parent, you will learn to pick your battles." He almost regretted uttering the words— words about the future— but he wanted to show Dean he believed there was a future.

"Those were great boots," Caleb added. "I miss those boots."

Mackland swore his son was pouting. He, on the other hand, hated those boots and was happy when Caleb outgrew them. He took an obscene amount of pleasure in throwing them down the trash chute.

The next picture was one of Dean by himself, sleeping by Jim's lake. It surprised Mackland to see a picture of Dean alone and not with the others. Dean looked about twelve or thirteen years of age.

"Is that drool?" Caleb asked as he put his thumb over Dean's face, obscuring it totally.

"Get your finger off my face, Damien." Dean flicked at Caleb's finger. The assault must have stung because his son snatched up his thumb and cradled it to his chest.

They went through the other pictures, but Mackland wanted more. He couldn't believe there was so much he had forgotten. "There were some other ones. . . ," he began to suggest. He had seen similar books on the top shelf of the closet.

"Maybe the _Miami Vice_ picture is in there," Dean said with a grin.

Mackland smiled. Dean was referring to the photo of Caleb wearing a light blue blazer and shoes with no socks, following the fashion sense of a television show. The doctor had the original safely tucked away and had made copies. As a parent, there were rare moments of secretly laughing at your children.

"Laugh it up, because when we find it, I'm burning it," Caleb threatened.

"And no one paid you to dress like that, right?" Sam joined in the conversation. "I can't wait to see it."

Mackland took it as an affirmation that they wanted to see the other photo albums, and he wanted to indulge the boys as much as possible. The closet was on the first floor. Mackland easily reached the top shelf. There was a box and other items sitting on top of the photo albums, but he didn't want to take the boxes down. The boys were waiting, Esme and Joshua would be there soon, and he would have to play referee and host. He pulled two of the photo albums, which started a chain reaction. Whatever was in the box came tumbling at him, striking him on the head. He fell back, one album in his hand, and then everything went dark.

Mackland had spent a majority of his life in hospitals. Before opening his eyes, his other senses were well aware of the location. The dryness of the air, the smell of cloy cleanliness, the muffled sounds, and the flimsy, over-washed johnny against his skin: he was in a hospital room. He must have scared the boys and been unconscious for quite a while for them to bring him to the local clinic.

"Dad?"

Caleb, of course, would be hyper-alert, looking for his father to awaken. But Mackland remained still, relishing in hearing Caleb call him 'Dad', remembering the first time it had happened. It had been so unexpected.

They had been together a year, building a trust. Another incident had arisen at school, forcing Mackland to have to transfer the teenager to another private school. The doctor had recognized it: Caleb was testing his boundaries, for which there had to be repercussions. Caleb had been grounded for a week.

Caleb had gone to bed, disgruntled and grumbling about the unfairness of his life. Mackland had gone to his office to work late into the evening. He had been surprised when Caleb had appeared, bedraggled.

"You okay, son?" Mackland had put down his pen. He hadn't wanted to ask Caleb if he had had a vision. The teenager knew not to keep them a secret.

"Dad, can I stay here for a while?" Caleb had motioned towards the sofa in the room.

Mackland had been startled then smiled. In that moment, he hadn't known if it was Caleb's sleepy mind, which would therefore mean that the boy's defenses were down, but he had been proud. Proud to be Caleb's father. "Sure."

Caleb had folded his long, lanky body in the loveseat and sighed.

So Mackland decided it was time to open his eyes and tell his son not to worry. "Son—"

"Dad! You're awake!"

The doctor blinked, blinked again, but still it was Joshua standing in front of his bed, bending down closer. Mackland pressed into his pillow. "Joshua?"

"Dad?" Joshua said again, seeming relieved.

"Stop calling me that." Mackland frowned, then winced. This was the worst practical joke the boys had ever played on him. He wondered how they got Joshua to play along. He narrowed his eyes. Joshua looked different. He was in a casual button down shirt, a tweed blazer, and jeans. Gone were the expensively tailored designer clothes. His hair was longer than usual, and it made him look studious rather than polished and stylish.

"I've been calling you that all my life." Joshua placed his hand on top of Mackland's, making the doctor feel uncomfortable. "Dad, are you okay? I should call a nurse. A doctor. I'll go get Mom," Joshua rambled.

"Wait!" But Joshua backed out of the room, or what he supposed was Joshua, because the Joshua Sawyer he knew was completely different.

He looked around the room. This wasn't a room in the clinic near Jim's home. He found the button for the bed and raised it so he could look out the window. It was a distinctive skyline he recognized.

How the hell could he be in New York City when he was in Kentucky?

He didn't have long to ponder his predicament when Joshua returned with an escort. "See? He's awake."

"Darling."

"Esme."

Esme was a classic beauty. She stole his breath every time she entered a room. A scarf was wrapped around her neck with some intricate long necklaces that had a fleur-de-lis design. She laid a hand on his head and grasped his hand. "Darling, you had me and Josh so worried."

Mackland enjoyed the concern— and Esme's touch— but he also wanted to tell her that he was in the wrong place, the wrong time with the wrong person calling him 'Dad'. At the same time, he knew that until he had a full understanding of what was happening, it was better to remain silent and gather information.

"What happened?"

Esme gripped his hand tighter. "You went to work and promised to be home soon, but with this flu epidemic . . . You work too hard . . . and I got a call that you had fainted."

Mackland was aghast. "I don't faint."

"Dad, you fainted. Doctor Winchester— " Joshua started.

Mackland sat up. "Doctor Winchester?" He wondered which Winchester Joshua was referring to: John, Dean or Sam. Or it could be someone completely different; 'Winchester' was not an unusual name. He didn't like this predicament at all. He kept willing himself to wake up from whatever had happened to him. He pinched himself and winced. Surprisingly, he was relieved, believing he could possibly be dead and in some sort of hell. Still, he had felt pain, and if he was somehow dead, he doubted he would feel anything.

"Should I get him?" Joshua hovered in the corner.

"Sure, but take your time. I want to speak to your mother," Mackland stated. He wanted some alone time with Esme. At least this Esme was acting normal, except she was his wife. Maybe he could ask her for help. Joshua was making him nervous.

"Right," Joshua replied with a chuckle.

"I'm sorry I worried you."

"Mackland, I was so frightened. You and Joshua are my everything." Esme covered her eyes.

Mackland had never seen Esme so emotional. Usually, she was reserved. He didn't know what to say so decided to squeeze her hand. It was the right thing to do. Esme sniffed, then gave him a beaming smile.

He wondered if this Esme was raised with a knowledge of spells that could send him to his right time. He decided to tentatively test her. "Can you fix me some tea and make this all better? Some special tea." Mackland accentuated the words, trying to pass on a hint of what he was asking.

Esme frowned. "What are you talking about? I think the hospital will frown on me bringing you a glass of your favorite scotch."

Although he had never understood Esme's abilities, he felt saddened that they were not a part of this reality. He liked the mystery they conjured, and they would admittedly have been very useful in his current situation. There wasn't enough time to lament the loss, though. Another mystery was about to be solved. Joshua reentered the room with a man wearing a white coat, head down, looking at a chart.

Mackland forgot his manners. "You're a doctor?"

"Yes." The young doctor looked up.

"Dean Winchester."

"Yes, Doctor Ames. Would you prefer someone else? Because I can talk to Doctor McCoy—"

"No, no." Mackland remembered teaching Dean to suture and how adept the youngster had been. His subconscious dream state must have recalled the memory and added it to this reality. Dean looked the same, though his hair was longer and parted on the side, giving him a more boyish appearance. He looked less muscular, leaner, but still fit. "Liz McCoy?" Mackland had had previous dealings with the female doctor and her lacking bedside manner.

"Yes, the head of the department was contacted when we admitted you," Dean explained as he came forward with his penlight and shined it into Mackland's eyes.

"Where did you go to college?" Mackland asked, wanting to learn as much as possible about this Dean Winchester, compare it to the one he knew to assess if any of this was a threat.

Dean had a stethoscope looped around his shoulders then stopped just short of placing the ends in his ears. "Excuse me?"

"Undergrad and med school," Mackland pressed, keeing a hand on his hospital gown.

Dean stood up straighter. "Kansas State and Cornell."

Mackland smiled. Dean had stayed close to home before going further away to graduate school. He probably stayed around for his brother. "And you graduated with honors?" Mackland expected nothing less, knew that if Dean could have been encouraged to go to school, then he would have gone far. Mackland was partial to medicine.

"Yes. Did I pass the test?" Dean put the ends of the stethoscope in his ears. "Do you agree to be my patient, Doctor Ames?"

Mackland flinched as the cold metal came in contact with his skin.

"Dad, you need to stop giving Doctor Winchester a hard time. Is this how you treat all residents?" Joshua asked from the corner where he remained standing.

"Yes, he does," Dean replied before Mackland could disagree.

"Darling . . . ," Esme began to admonish him.

It was a quick examination— one he had done on Dean and Sam too many times. He wanted to ask about Sam, but knew he needed to wait; he needed to come to some conclusions. Mackland tried to be a good patient, but pushed the offending pen light away. "So tell me: what did you discover?"

"We did an MRI and CT Scan," Dean listed, reading the chart.

"Let me see," Mackland asked to see the results. He was a neurosurgeon, after all, and could identify any anomalies easily.

Dean looked up. "Doctor Cooper from neuro already read it."

"Well, I'd rather take a look. I think I know my way around a brain, Dean," Mackland answered. Esme patted him on the hand. He didn't like to be patronized, especially by a resident, no matter if it was Dean Winchester.

"Sir, I didn't realize that neurology was an interest of yours. I thought being a family practitioner kept you very busy. I would like to discuss some theories when you have time—" Dean handed over the file.

"I'm a family practitioner?" Mackland took the chart with a limp hand.

"Yes." Esme bobbed her head up and down. "Your patients love you."

He let out an audible groan. He didn't want to act like a person who had had a break with reality or, using the non-clinical term which Caleb was fond of, 'buckets of crazy.' And yet, here he was, pushed to the brink—Joshua as his son and he was in family practice?

"Are you alright, Doctor Ames?" Dean asked, looking at the monitors.

"Just wondering how I landed in this nightmare," he muttered then turned towards Esme. "Esme, please tell me we are rich."

"We have all sorts of riches," she said in her soothing, husky voice.

Normally, he would have found the answer endearing, but not today. "No, I mean money."

She frowned but came close and whispered in his ear, "Yes, we are."

"Thank God." At least one thing in this reality made sense. He just hoped he wasn't permanently stuck there.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman

By: Tidia

Beta: Household Six

Notes: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. This was too much fun to write, and I am glad you are all enjoying it. Thank you to Ridley who is such a wonderful cheerleader. Snowed in today, but that can be a good thing! Shout out to Tara who made another great vid, which I will put up on the hunterstomb.

Part 2

Mackland came to a few conclusions. He was in some sort of dream state, which was twisting his current reality to have all the players of his life fit in a non-Brotherhood world. He must have been struck on the head and was therefore unconscious. For a while, he believed it was demon-instigated and Joshua was his demon guide. In this place, Joshua was a lingering annoyance, but Mackland figured he needed to be patient in order to see his real son, Caleb, who he figured would be a part of this dream.

So he stayed in bed and learned too much about Joshua, who waited with Mac while Esme returned home to shower and grab some of Mackland's things.

"Dad?"

Joshua interrupted Mackland's reading of the New York Times. The doctor hoped he was able to stop himself cringing at the use of 'Dad' by Joshua. "Yes?"

Esme's son was sitting in a chair, a magazine opened on his lap. "I should have said something a long time ago, but when stuff like this happens, it's a real wakeup call. Thank you."

Mackland automatically responded with "You're welcome." He hoped Joshua would take it as a cue that Mackland wanted some silence, but Joshua continued his longwinded explanation.

"I always felt like your real son— you're the only father I've known. I know you love Mom, but it must have been hard with an infant involved . . ."

The doctor's interest was piqued. He assumed, distastefully, that he was Joshua's biological father. "Your father—" Mackland started.

"Harland Sawyer ran off with the secretary at the dealership he worked at when he found out my mother was pregnant. I will never refer to him as a 'father'."

Mackland smiled. It was nice to know that in this reality Harland Sawyer was still a slimy bastard. He had given him a fitting profession as a car salesman. "Don't you need to go back to work?" The sooner Joshua left, the sooner he could possibly see Caleb, Dean and Sam, the sooner he could then wake up.

"It is a busy season, but all holiday donations are usually in by this time. Although, as you say, the unexpected can happen."

"You work for a non-profit?" Mackland wanted to know why he created a Joshua that was a sterling example of a generous, kind-hearted human being. These were words he would never use to describe the real Joshua Sawyer. "Did you ever think of for profit? Public relations?"

"That job?" Joshua crossed his arms. "I was flattered, but I can make a difference with helping the needy."

He was baffled. His one thought was that maybe Joshua represented The Brotherhood, defending the meek, but it was a strange characterization. Joshua was the wrong choice for that. Caleb was always the epitome of The Brotherhood.

Then, as if Mackland needed further evidence that his subconscious was playing some sort of game with him, it came when the door opened. Mackland brightened immediately. "Caleb!"

Caleb gave a quick nod and grin, shifting the wrapped, large flat package under his other arm.

Joshua stood up, came forward, his hand outstretched. "Josh, Josh Ames."

Mackland silenced a snort at the introduction. He understood its place in his dream state: he wished both boys could accept that their parents were having a relationship. And he had always wished Caleb had taken his name.

"Nice to meet you. Caleb Reaves."

Caleb's hair had been long when he was younger and pulled back into a ponytail, which was the style this current Caleb was wearing. Mackland never knew why he had cut it. One day he saw his son and noticed the longer hair was gone. Mac missed it, thinking it fit in more with Caleb's personality than his short hair.

Caleb rolled up one sleeve of his gray hooded sweatshirt. "I went to your office to deliver the painting and found out what happened. The nurse said it was safe to come in. The painting is still a surprise for your wife, correct?" Caleb lifted the package up.

Mackland was excited. He had seen few of Caleb's paintings, and mostly at his prompting. His son kept quite a few secrets, like the room in his home filled with his mother's artwork. "Yes, a surprise. Can I see it?"

"Dad, I'm going to get going, since you have company." Joshua was at the door and lifted his hand up.

Mackland waved back and added a sincere "Thank you, Joshua."

Caleb removed the paper carefully, and there before Mackland was a beautiful oil painting of the ocean. The different hues of blue were represented. It was a tumultuous piece.

"A Caleb Reaves original," Mackland said with awe. His son was painting seascapes without the dark ramifications the water always brought up for him. "Please sit, sit," the doctor prompted.

Caleb did as he was asked, carefully wrapping the picture up again.

This was a moment Mackland couldn't resist— to talk to his son without the encumbrances of a tainted childhood. "How did you become an artist?"

Caleb gave him a dazzling smile of true happiness. Smiles were something Mackland wished he saw more often. "For a while I thought I'd be an architect— my dad's a builder— but art is in my blood, too. My mother is an accomplished painter."

"Amelia Reaves," Mackland said, bringing a picture up in his mind of Caleb's mother.

"Yes." Caleb nodded.

The doctor wanted more information. He wanted to know what brought happiness to his son. "Where are you spending the holidays?"

Caleb wiped his hands down his jeans. "I'm taking a flight to North Carolina tonight. Real family Christmas—my mom, dad and brother."

Mackland was surprised, but shouldn't have been. According to Caleb, Amelia Reaves had been pregnant when she died. "Brother?"

"Lucas, not an artist." Caleb shook his head and smiled. "He's an engineer, but he tries to understand the whole artist thing." Reaves gestured with his hands.

With a soft knock, Dean entered the room, head down, reading notes. He shifted his head up and noticed another person in the room. Mackland made the introductions.

"Caleb Reaves, this is Doctor Dean Winchester."

Mackland wanted to witness this moment between the two, but he was disappointed. It was a brief handshake with no recognition of a kindred spirit. There was, fortunately, no common link of a dark demonic past compromising their families.

"I can come back." Dean backed up.

Caleb shook his head. "No, I should get going. Feel better, Doctor Ames."

He wanted to tell them they could be fast friends, but it would sound like the ramblings of a lunatic. Instead he jutted his hand out. "Thanks, son." He shook Caleb's hand, then placed his other hand on top. "Be happy."

Caleb cocked his head and glanced at their intertwined hands. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."

Mackland watched Caleb leave the room. He then diverted his attention to the other doctor. "So Dean, since you chased away my company, then you'll have to spare a few minutes."

"I — " Dean looked at the door. "Okay."

Mackland shifted in the hospital bed. A discussion with this Dean was awkward, although all their most recent conversations in the real world seemed to be that way, too. "What are you doing for the holidays?"

Dean fidgeted, adjusting the sleeves of his white lab coat. "My brother is here visiting. Mom and Dad are staying home, but I'll visit them in January for a week."

Mackland smiled. He would have an opportunity to see Sam. "Your brother is here?"

"Sam, yes. He just got here." Dean gestured towards the door.

"What does your brother do?" Mackland had mentored Sam, encouraging him to use his mind.

"Sam's a teacher."

Mackland was expecting lawyer, but teacher fit, too, especially with Sam being the next Scholar. There was a pause in the conversation as Mackland tried to find other points of discussion. "And your parents are well?" He wanted to find out about his friend, John, and if he was with his one true love, Mary. It would be fitting.

"Yeah, my dad owns a garage. My mom is his book keeper." Dean smiled at the mention of his mother. "Hardest job there is, deciphering my dad's writing. Makes doctor script look neat."

"And you didn't want to be a mechanic?" Mackland asked. His Dean Winchester wanted to be just like John and was in many ways—especially mechanical abilities and hunting.

Dean frowned. "Doctor Ames, I know you are always questioning my decisions. . ."

"No, no. I am making polite conversation." Mackland waved his hands in surrender. He had inadvertently insulted the younger man. "I am sorry I gave you that impression."

Dean seemed to accept the apology. "Well, I am a mechanic in a way. I'm just helping people instead." The young doctor shrugged his shoulders. "But I work on cars to relax."

Mackland was glad Dean still wanted to be like John. "Invite your brother in. I would like to meet him."

Dean's eyebrows rose in confusion. "Ah, sure. He's right outside; we're supposed to get a cup of coffee together. But I wanted to check in with you." Dean stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. "Sir, the reason why I came by was to tell you that Pastor Jim Murphy is back."

Mackland had to commend himself on his dream state. John was happy in Kansas, and he would get to see Jim again. "He's here?"

Dean nodded with a sigh. "It's his heart. We don't think he'll make it this time. He's been asking for you."

Mackland felt his eyes well up. Jim had been the true heart of The Brotherhood, and without him the hunters seemed to be lost with infighting. "Let me meet your brother first, and then one of the nurses can take me to Pastor Jim."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck then exited the room. The door was slow in closing so that from where Mackland was sitting he could hear and see Sam.

Sam was thinner, ganglier, but still tall. He was leaning over the nurses' station.

Dean pulled at his shirt, towards the room. "He wants to meet you."

"What? No way—" Sam pulled away.

Dean grabbed his brother's arm. "He's my boss. You'll meet him and pretend to like him."

Sam huffed but went along with his older brother.

They both turned around and noticed the door had not fully closed. Mackland waved at them. The Winchester brothers had overly toothy smiles, trying to make up for their overheard statements.

Dean cleared his throat as he re-entered the room, brother in tow. "Sam Winchester, Doctor Mackland Ames."

"Nice to meet you, Sir." Sam extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you." Mackland accepted the handshake. "Dean tells me you're visiting from Kansas."

Sam shrugged, and it looked like a familiar posture for Sam. This Sam didn't worry so much, had a more charmed life. "School break, so it was the perfect time to see my big brother and catch the ball dropping in Times Square."

Mackland remembered it was last year when the boys had decided to stay in New York City for New Year's Eve. How quickly a year passed with so much happening . . .

He appraised the two young men in front of him. "Your parents must be very proud. Although somehow I think they must be asking about grandchildren."

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam snorted. "I stopped bringing Jess by the house because I thought that Mom was going to propose to her."

Mackland chuckled. Sam had found his Jessica, and they were together. The Winchesters were the picture perfect family they should have been destined to be. He knew he was keeping them from their brotherly time; although once they left his presence, Mackland still wondered what would happen with them. Was this a dream state or truly another reality?

He didn't want to ponder it too long. A part of him knew he had to leave this place, and soon. Time was elapsing quickly, but a lengthy unconscious state would mean he had been gravely injured. "Well, you two should go and get that cup of coffee. I'm going to visit Pastor Jim."

"Nice meeting you." Sam gave a nod, and Dean placed an arm around his shoulder, guiding him towards the door.

"You too, Sam. You have a hard-working big brother. Take care of him."

"I will," Sam replied and wrapped an arm over his brother's shoulders with a laugh.

A nurse came in soon after with a wheelchair. Mackland frowned at the protocol, bringing up too many memories. He decided to exert some control. "I would rather walk. What room is Pastor Jim in?"

The nurse told him and backed out of the room. Jim was on the floor above him.

It was dark in Pastor Jim's room with only the reading light on. Jim was sleeping, his glasses on his nose, the Bible opened on his chest. He should have known the pastor was not really sleeping. Jim opened his eyes and gave Mackland a warm smile.

Jim gently closed the book, placing it on the nightstand. "I thought it would be at least two months between hospital stays, but my heart wasn't into it."

Mackland smiled at the poor health joke but caught his eyes welling up at seeing his old friend. "I've missed you."

"You'll find another favorite patient soon enough— hopefully, one who challenges you more on the chess board." He sat up, pushing away Mackland's assistance.

The doctor wanted this time with the pastor. He had been so brutally taken away from them. Mackland's own heart ached when he remembered how he had spoken to him that morning about some inconsequential Brotherhood business. However, their underlying concern had been for John and his sons. He should have been worried about Jim. "If you had to do this all over, would you change anything? Would you choose this life?"

That was the important question. He didn't have to talk in terms of The Brotherhood, although that was his direct meaning. He had stressed to the younger hunters to have another life away from the hunt. Maybe the reason why was because he wanted options for himself.

"The life chooses you, Mackland." Jim gripped Mackland's forearm. "You know that." Jim lessened his grip, became wistful. "Perhaps a little more time to put my affairs in order and see things come to fruition." Jim chuckled, "We all want a little more time, don't we?"

Mackland just nodded. The truth about their plans for the next Triad would surely break Jim's heart.

There was a soft knock at the door before a man entered. He came closer into the meager light.

"Bobby?" Mackland barely recognized the cleanly shaven, suit-wearing mechanic.

Singer laughed haughtily. "I haven't been called 'Bobby' since college. Are you a fellow Beta Gamma?"

Mackland rubbed his mouth. This was not Robert 'Bobby' Singer. "You could say a fraternity was involved."

Bobby seemed to accept the answer. "Your young resident asked me to check on Jim Murphy. I can't believe I was recognized, but being a famous doctor. . ."

"Dean Winchester sent you in? He's a good boy," Jim said, showing his partiality toward Dean, his choice as the next Guardian.

"Recognized? Famous?" Mackland didn't understand. Those were descriptions usually given to him.

"It seems I have a fan club after creating an artificial valve . . . ," Bobby began to explain, but Mackland stopped listening.

"_**Doctor**_ Singer?" He sputtered. "Oh no, absolutely not. . ." Mackland willed himself to wake up, fearing he had descended into hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman

By: Tidia

Beta: Household Six

Notes: Well, this was supposed to be the end, but then Ridley emailed me an epilogue-- it truly is a gift-- she sent it, I fluffed and added, Jo did a quick beta and it will be up on Saturday. Enjoy this part, laugh and be stress free!

Part 3

Mackland took a deep breath. This bed felt different than the one from the hospital. He took in another breath; the air smelled different, warm with scents of cooking. He sighed, apparently alerting the other occupant of the room.

"Dad?"

Mackland distinctly heard the question. It sounded like Caleb, but he was unsure. He didn't open his eyes, just in case he was about to be disappointed. "Caleb?"

"Yeah," the voice said as if it were the most obvious answer in all the world. "Dad, are you going to open your eyes?"

Mackland was relieved and did as he was asked. There was his son, his real son. "Thank God."

Relief clearly flashed across Caleb's eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed. Mackland recognized the room. It had been Pastor Jim's master bedroom. A picture of Emma was on the bureau.

"What happened?"

Caleb raked a hand through his hair. "The shelf fell on you." Caleb pointed to a spot on his own head. "At the same time, Esme and Josh showed up. We got you to your room, then Esme did something, said you'd wake up soon."

"How long?" His hand went to an aching spot on his head. It felt moist.

"Just twenty minutes." Caleb moved his father's hand away. "Don't touch that. Esme took care of it. I should go get her." Caleb started to move away.

He wanted more time with his son. "Wait a minute." Mackland put his hands up to show he wasn't going to touch anything. "I had the strangest dream."

"Was Esme in it?" Caleb crossed his arms.

"Yes, and—"

Caleb interrupted his explanation, "Then I don't want to know."

The doctor, however, really wanted to share the experience with someone. "You were there, too."

"Dad!" Caleb covered his eyes. "God, now I really don't want to know."

Mackland finally understood and frowned his annoyance at his son. "Since when does every conversation involving a female connate sex?"

Caleb covered his ears. "Don't say it! You think any kid wants that image on their mind. . . of their parent. . . NO!"

Mackland couldn't stop laughing. It actually took the pain away from his headache. Once he regained his composure and Caleb lost his horrified expression, he began to relate his dream state in another fashion. "Do you still paint?"

"Sure." Caleb rolled his eyes. "It's right up there with saving the world from the worst demon attack in over one hundred years."

He hated his son's self-deprecating jokes. He still carried the image of the winsome artist Caleb Reaves in his mind. "Caleb, it is. When this is all over, I want you to be happy."

"I am happy." The younger man gave his father an overtly fake smile. "Well, sorta— as much as I can be with all the stuff that's going on."

There was too much happening. That was the overwhelming problem. Dean's expiration date, issues within the ranks of The Brotherhood, and the never-ending list of demons all needed their time, but there just wasn't enough time to go around. Still, hadn't Jim encouraged faith? Mackland wanted to believe, too. "Painting makes you happy. Don't give it up. Maybe one day, you'll give me one."

Caleb grinned, but Mackland knew it was false. They had been together for over twenty years as father and son. He knew his boy's heart.

"Had I known, I would have given you one for Christmas. Would have saved me a lot of money."

"Caleb—" Mackland placed a hand on his son's wrist.

Caleb looked down and patted his father's hand. "The carolers are going to be by soon, and you know how much I love carolers."

Mackland recalled one of the early Christmas celebrations at the farm. "I thought you hated them? Something about a birthday being near Christmas?"

Caleb pulled his hand and wrist away. "Oh, yeah, I still carry the resentment, but this year Dean said he would help me scare them." Caleb raised his eyebrows. "Should be fun."

Mackland knew he should give some sort of speech to his son about scaring the neighbors, especially during the holidays, but couldn't manage it. "How old are you?"

"Old enough that I know I'm doing okay." Caleb winked. "And before you ask—at this moment—Dean's okay, Sam's okay, and I guess Josh is okay, too."

"And Esme?"

"I think I'll leave that answer up to you." Caleb stood up and squeezed his father's shoulder.

However, it was difficult to have any conversation with Esme. Every time she came upstairs with a cup of tea, something to eat, or to check on him, she had an escort. Dean took pleasure in being Esme's companion. He bent down and whispered, "Damien's paying me a hundred dollars. What did you say to scare the hell outta him?"

Mackland had swatted him away, begged to be allowed downstairs. Esme had put herself in charge as his medical practitioner; she would be the one to determine if he was fit. She confined him to quarters.

Hours later, the house was quiet. Mackland was amused as he thought of the old _The Night Before Christmas _poem. He had rested so much, he wasn't tired.

There was a soft rustling at the door. Esme entered, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair pulled away from her face. She clicked the door softly shut.

"Mackland, we have helicopter children," she said with barely a whisper.

"Esme, I was giving up hope that you were going to come upstairs alone."

She came closer to his bed and slipped off the bathrobe. "Your son kept following me, making sure I was sleeping in the den. My son is no better. I had to sneak up here, Mackland. A woman my age sneaking around—"

"But I'm worth it."

Instead of answering, her eyes shined in the dark. "How are you feeling?" She pulled the clip from her hair. He liked when she wore her hair down and she knew it.

"Better now." He pushed the blankets aside and invited her into his bed.

She curled into him, her head near his shoulder. "They might do a bed check, Mackland."

"I think we can risk it."

On Christmas morning, he was suspicious when Dean asked how he had slept and let his eyes glance over to Esme. Neither Joshua nor Caleb commented, so either they were ignoring the situation or they didn't know.

Presents were opened. Pancakes, eggs and bacon were served, and then they were ordered out of the kitchen.

Bobby had called. He had been expected at the gathering. "Well, if it isn't the famous Robert Singer," Mackland had announced when he answered the phone.

_"You okay, Mac? Too much eggnog?" _

"No, no." He wasn't going to explain his dream to Bobby. Ever. "Are you on the road?"

_"The thing is. . .with Ellen alone and all. . ."_

"You're spending the holidays with Ellen?" Mackland said it loud enough so everyone in the room could hear.

Dean and Caleb reacted, as expected, with catcalls. Esme admonished them without success. Mackland covered his mouth so she wouldn't see his smile.

_"Shut up. Merry Christmas."_

"Merry Christmas, Bobby."

With dinner almost ready, Dean and Sam had been ordered to wash the pots and pans. Joshua and Caleb were assigned with setting the table, fetching firewood, and opening wine. It was strangely domestic—funny what effect a woman in their midst could have. They couldn't deny her requests.

They sat at the kitchen table, piled with food and drink. Mackland had found Jim's old camera. A roll of unfinished film still lay inside. He placed it on the counter.

"Shouldn't we say grace?" Sam asked as his brother's fork stood poised over the roast.

"I think that would be appropriate."

Dean's fork retreated. Mackland looked down the table at Esme. To his left was Caleb, and right, Sam. Esme had Dean seated on her left, and Joshua was supposed to be seated on her right. There was an empty chair.

"Where's Josh?" Caleb asked.

"He's making a phone call. He'll be right in," Esme replied, placing her napkin in her lap.

"On Christmas? Who's in trouble?" Sam asked.

Dean poked him with his elbow. "If it's Halle Berry, he'll let you know."

"He's calling his father," Esme explained, fidgeting with her napkin.

"Oh." Sam looked at Mackland.

Joshua returned quickly, his demeanor let them know he had either received no reply or a terse one.

"Last one to the table has to say grace," Dean announced as Joshua took his seat with a glance to his mother.

"I don't think so," Joshua replied.

"Should be easy for someone in PR. But maybe you're not that good—just smoke and mirrors." Dean cocked his head.

"Deuce, was that a challenge? Josh, you aren't going to answer a challenge?" Caleb gave him a slight shove.

Mackland thought it was obvious they were trying to distract Joshua. The effort was appreciated.

Joshua pulled away from Caleb. "Fine." He bowed his head. "Blessing upon the food we eat and the company at this table. Grant me patience to deal with them. Amen."

"Joshua—" Esme said.

"Mother?" Joshua retorted.

She wrinkled her nose. "Dean?"

"Damien."

"Sammy."

"Mac."

Mackland had watched the domino exchange. "What is the point of this?"

They all started chuckling, which turned into full fits of laughter. Tears rolled down Esme's face. Sam rested his head on the table and gulped in air. Caleb would try to stop only to succeed in bursting out, pointing at Dean, who threw his head back. Joshua shook his head but laughed along with them.

This life had chosen them: Esme and Joshua, Dean and Sam, Caleb and Mackland. They were lucky to have each other. They would have been lost without The Brotherhood in their lives, making sense of the supernatural and giving them a purpose.

He joined in the laughter, too.

This was a picture worthy of Pastor Jim's photo album.


	4. Epilogue

Title: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman

By: Tidia (Co-author on this part is Ridley C. James)

Disclaimer: Part 1

Beta: Household Six

Notes: Here is the epilogue. Thank you to Ridley for sending it, and to Jo for doing a quick beta for me. Thank you to all of you kind readers, people who put the story on alert, and those who reviewed. I appreaciate it all. Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! And Happy Birthday Caleb! g 

Epilogue

They all enjoyed the dinner, staying around the kitchen table long after dessert had been served. It was late, nearing midnight, plunging the house into quiet. Dean didn't want the quiet.

He convinced Caleb and Sam to join him in Jim's barn for a continuation of Christmas. Dean opened the doors to The Pit, looking down to the dusty darkness. Boo and Harper Lee stood near the rim, gauging its depth.

Dean sat down at the edge then jumped in. "I know there's some of Jim's secret stash still here." He bent down, finding what he was looking for. "Told you." Dean's head popped up from the rim of The Pit, handing a bottle to Caleb.

"Sweet." Caleb rubbed his hands together. It was cold in the barn, but the brew would soon warm them again. Caleb offered a hand to Dean to help him up. "Of course you did pull a bender down there a few times. You should know."

"It was once." Dean snorted, passing another bottle up before taking his friend's assistance. "I was fourteen, injured, and if I remember, everyone including _you_ forgot about me."

Caleb retorted with a quick grin. He had been smiling throughout the day, a relief to Dean since he was tired of a sullen Sam and Caleb. "Sammy remembered you. _I _sacrificed a steak dinner to help with the rescue."

"I forgot how selfless you are." Dean dusted his hands off. "Sammy still not here with the glasses and the rest of Esme's pie?"

Caleb gestured to some bales of hay. "Let's hope Mac didn't catch him sneaking out."

"Or worse, Josh."

Caleb laughed, held up the dust and spider web covered amber bottles, flopped on one of the bales. "I don't think Sawyer is the homemade brew kind of guy."

"Yeah. But he loves him some pie." Dean sighed. "Can't fault a guy for that." Dean took a seat. Boo jumped up, which prompted Harper Lee to attempt to get his short legs onto the stack. The beagle whined pitifully.

Caleb rolled his eyes before lifting the overweight hound up to join them. "I have to admit, Christmas wasn't as terrible as I thought it was going to be."

Dean met the psychic's gaze. "No bloodshed. I'm proud of you, Damien."

"I think I've handled myself with decorum, maturity and extreme restraint."

"So you don't care that Esme sneaked into Mac's room after lights out last night?"

"Dude…" Caleb glared.

Dean laughed. "Jim never did insulate those walls very well and…"

"Shut up."

Dean shrugged. "I like her. She's a good fit with Mac."

Caleb leaned back against the wall. "He deserves to be happy."

"Same goes for you. And Sammy."

Caleb's eyes narrowed. "We agreed. No talking about anything serious."

That had been part of the reason why there was a bounty of smiles. They avoided the topic of Dean's death. Dean wanted to avoid it, too. He wanted more moments of carefree relaxation, avoiding hell. "Okay. How about some presents?"

Reaves frowned. "It's nearly midnight."

Dean grinned. "It's not over until it's over."

Caleb surprised him by pulling a wrapped gift from his jacket pocket. "Great minds think alike."

Dean took the gift. "This going to top Mac's?"

"I've never been the break the bank kind of guy." Caleb smiled. "It's more of a family heirloom."

"I've gotten hand-me-downs from you my entire life." Dean raised a brow. "And you accused us Winchesters of being horrible re-gifters."

"Just open it, Deuce."

Dean didn't hesitate in tearing into the gift. He lifted the lid of the plain wooden box. "This is Pastor Jim's silver cross." He looked up at his friend. "Why are you giving me this?" Dean knew what the piece of jewelry meant to Caleb.

Caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "He had his and Emma's wedding bands melted down to make it. He told me once it was fused with the most powerful magic of all — love. Jim said that where there was great love…there were always miracles."

Dean fingered the cross. He would be glad to sacrifice himself for Sam and Caleb, but he was afraid. He didn't know if they would use him against his friends and family, turn him into a demon or worse, they would be forced to kill him. Despite the 'nothing serious' rule, he felt the pressure of that fear in his chest as he whispered, "I could use a miracle."

Caleb stood, reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You're going to be around next Christmas, Deuce. I swear."

Dean clasped the cross in his hand. He put faith in Caleb, Sam, Bobby and Mac. If they couldn't save him, maybe Jim's cross would at least protect him. He had faith in Jim, too. "Thanks, man. I love it."

Reaves shoved his hands in his pockets. "If Sammy doesn't soon get here, I'm going to break into the Christmas spirits without him just to keep warm."

"How about you open your gift instead?"

Caleb frowned. "I thought the six-pack, prophylactics, and bag of M&M's was my present."

Dean moved past him towards one of the empty horse stalls. He had placed it there while Sam had distracted Caleb when they arrived. "This one wasn't something I wanted to put under the tree."

Caleb laughed. "You'll put condoms in a stocking, but _this _requires privacy? You're scaring me, Deuce."

Dean held out the large, brown paper wrapped gift. "Just open it, Damien."

Caleb set the present down to tear away the paper. Dean knew he'd done right when Caleb let out a shaky breath. "Dean…"

"It's the last one, right?" Dean looked down at the seascape, admiring it again. It was an Amelia Reaves original painting. "The one you couldn't track down—the one she did of your house."

Caleb touched the heavy frame. "Yeah…but how?" Dean watched as his friend ran his fingers over the crashing surf, traced the sandy dunes in front of a beach house nestled in a cove. "I couldn't find it…I tried every source. It was like it fell off the face of the earth."

"Right into the lap of a very rich and reclusive dealer." Dean snorted. "I know how you feel about Bela Talbot, but the woman is good at what she does. And the bitch owed me one after that whole Gordon incident."

Caleb met Dean's gaze. "I don't know what to say…this…it's…"

"Like having a piece of your mom back?" Dean looked down, placing his hands in his pockets, feeling as though he was revealing too much of himself.

"Yeah."

Dean looked back up. Caleb was the first person to understand what Dean lost when his mother was murdered. It bound them together as much as The Brotherhood. "Then it was worth it."

Caleb's mouth twitched into a grin. "Tell me you didn't compromise your virtue for me, Deuce? Bela is a whole other kind of low."

Dean smiled, shaking his head. "I'm not above taking one for the team, but a man has to have his boundaries."

Caleb looked at the painting again before glancing back to Dean. "So you totally scammed her over?"

Dean laughed. "Robbed her blind."

"Hot damn." Caleb grabbed Dean pulled him into a crushing hug. "This is the best Christmas ever, Tiny Tim."

Dean was surprised at the reaction. He pounded on Reaves's back. "Right back at you, Bob Cratchett."

"Tell me you two aren't drunk already?"

Dean pulled back and gave Caleb a slight shove out of his personal space. Sam stood in the doorway holding a pie plate and some paper cups, wearing an amused grin.

The psychic shrugged, cleared his throat. "Real men hug, Runt. Just ask Mac."

"Okay." Sam looked at the dogs. "As long as there's no mistletoe hanging around."

"You're funny." Dean moved around Caleb, slapping him in the gut as he passed by. "Maybe Damien and I will shower you with some much needed brotherly affection, Emo-boy."

Sam stepped back. "Hey, I'm just here for the pie and booze."

Boo barked.

"I agree with you, Boo," Caleb said. "Sammy looks like he could use a good cry."

Sam stepped back holding out the desert. "Come any closer and Esme's pecan pie goes to Harper Lee."

Dean and Caleb exchanged looks. "He wouldn't," Dean said.

"I will," Sam swore. "Keep your noogies and wedgies to yourselves."

"Tell anybody about the chick-flick moment and you'll get worse than a swirly, little brother."

Sam handed Dean the pie. "I won't tell anyone." He tossed the paper cups to Caleb. "Don't need to." He grinned evilly, flashing his cell phone. "A picture is worth a thousand words."

Somehow Dean knew that was going to end up in the photo album. He hoped he lived to see it.


End file.
